A few weeks ago we had our term-ual (what’s a word for once-a-term?) visitation day at the New Horizon Nursery and Primary Schools. (Those are the schools here at Noah’s Ark.) It is basically the equivalent of open house and parent-teacher conferences done at the same time. The teachers stay at school all morning on Saturday so parents can come with their children and see the progress they are making in school.
Before that day, the students and teachers spend some time preparing the classrooms and all their work in a presentable manner. By the time they leave school on Friday, the classrooms are swept, each student has a pile of notebooks on his or her desk, plus a file full of midterm exams and past papers, and teachers have filled out class lists of how each student is doing in each subject and socially.
Of course, it makes it a bit difficult when we have a compound full of children and no parents.
That Saturday morning, as we were fishing with some of the children, I asked Abraham, “If I want to see how you are doing in school, which teacher do I need to come see today?” I knew he was in Primary 4 (fourth grade) and his teacher had been sick for the last week. I was mostly checking to see if the school had made sure there was another teacher covering for her. He said to find Tr. Annet, the head teacher (principal) and she would be in that classroom.
Later that morning, when fishing was over and Christian and I were sitting down to a late breakfast, Abraham showed up at the door. “Auntie Katie, you said you wanted to come talk to my teacher.”
I was taken aback, considering I had asked only to check in on the teacher, not on Abraham himself, but I was not about to refuse him. I told him I would come down in a little while, as soon as we finished our breakfast.
When I came down to school, I found Abraham in the P.4 classroom. Tr. Annet was sitting at a desk, surrounded by at least four boys and girls from the children’s home and a couple of aunties who care for them. I was happy to see some other adults had come down to talk with the teachers, and was about to leave when Abraham motioned for me to come over.
I came at the end of one auntie telling Abraham, “When you need help, don’t be silent. Come find me or someone else who can answer your questions. You don’t have to die alone.”
I knew Abraham struggled in school. In fact, it is pretty common knowledge. It was so good to hear someone telling him how many people here are for him and want to support him.
Abraham showed me his books for each subject and the exams in his file. He was ranked last in his class, which was not surprising when many of his scores were under 30 percent. We stepped outside and had a talk about not testing the teachers so much and trying to get along with them so he can learn as much as possible when they are in the classroom, then came inside and heard the same thing from Tr. Annet. Abraham promised to try not to challenge the teachers too much and I agreed to check in with him once in a while to see how he was doing in that area.
After that, we went to see Josephine’s teacher. Josephine is four years old and in her first year of nursery school. Her work was very impressive—she hardly colored out of the lines in her big numbers one through four and Tr. Rosemary said she gets along with the other students.
Next it was Isaac’s turn. Isaac is a seven-year-old boy who is special to me. Last year I came to his classroom every Friday to check his books and make sure he was doing the work. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. This year, however, his handwriting is legible and he almost always finishes his work! Big improvements! We looked through all of his books, spoke with his teacher, and then started to leave the school area.
We had made it halfway across the yard when I heard someone call my name from behind. Turning around, I saw Jonah running to us from his classroom. Out of breath, but with a big smile on his face, he said, “Auntie Katie, I want you to be my parent.”
That was when I broke a little.
What child has to ask someone to be his parent?
I had been “playing parent” all morning because it was fun for me. I love these children. I know it is good for them to have someone checking in on their school work. And in a selfish way, I was doing it because being a parent made me feel important.
Growing up, my parents were there. I never had to ask them to come to my parent-teacher meetings. I never had to ask them to come to my volleyball games or dance recitals. I never had to ask them to teach me how to drive or run a chainsaw or make lentil cheesebake. I never asked my Dad to show up to my rainy softball games in his bright orange raincoat, bright yellow hardhat and bright pink umbrella with the duck on the end. I was a little bit mortified, but he was there. They were there. And I certainly never had to ask someone to be my parent.
I am not trying to criticize Noah’s Ark or the way things are done here. This is not a criticism of Piet and Pita, for they have provided so much for the children and if it weren’t for them many of these kids would not even be alive. They simply can’t be full-time parents to two hundred children.
I am also not saying the aunties from the children’s home and family units are doing a bad job or neglecting the children in their care, for that is not the case either. Truth be told, I don’t think I would have what it takes to be a family unit auntie and live with ten children and have my job be to be their sort-of parent. I highly respect them.
The thing is, this is not how children are supposed to grow up. Noah’s Ark is an institutionalized family, which is an oxymoron in itself. All of the workers—aunties, uncles, missionaries, teachers, pastors—are a fraction of a parent for a fraction of the children. But in order to thrive, children need more than a fraction. It takes two parents to make one child; doesn’t that tell you something?
Please, parents, don’t make your children ask for your guidance. Don’t make them ask for your love. Don’t make them ask for you to be a parent to them. These things are meant to be given freely and if you can do that, your children will be some of the most blessed people on earth, whether or not they realize it or can articulate it to you.
Jonah is a wiry twelve-year-old with a broken arm and a constant smile, and I was more than happy to be his parent for half an hour that Saturday. It was an honor. But he needs more than that. We all need more than that.
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